


Soaked Socks

by StripedScribe



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Falling Through Ice, Gen, Ice, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: Winter, and with it the many dangers of ice, of snow. The betrayal of ice, a false friend to many, not least Matt Murdock.In which Matt Murdock and Daredevil have very different responses to injury and accidentsBad Things Happen Bingo [Falling through the Ice]
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117874
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much of this was inspired and shuffled along in the MattFoggy server, namely by [(Brittlestars)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlestars/pseuds/brittlestars) who contributed the entire tangerine plot, the wrong socks, a lot of speech and many key moments to this whole fic. <3

He hated the winter. Hated how the snow messed up everything he experienced, falling slower than rain, and confusing the air. Hated how it settled, creating obstacles, and later, creating ice. How he was forced to track through snow and puddles, how ice became a false friend to his cane, convincing him of a safe surface. It was for this reason, he stayed indoors as much as possible as the snow fell, taking more taxis, or relying on his friend’s for support, for them to guide him.

But there was a beauty in it as well. When the snow stopped falling overnight, leaving the world in a gentle blanket. Muffling the noise, the sounds of the city, the chatter of buildings drifting away under a cloud.

This was all soon ruined by the trampling of feet outside. As the city awoke, cars destroying the roads, people compacting the snow into ice and slush. And the moment he was forced to venture outside, false in his optimism of being able to walk to work.

He tapped down the road he’d travelled a hundred, a thousand times, cursing every time his cane caught in a pile of snow, dodging the areas he knew puddles developed, the potholes in the pavement. The cold numbed his hands, even through the gloves, and he pulled his scarf higher around his neck, huddling down into it. His father’s scarf, bring back memories of being younger, and creating dragon’s breath, a cloud in the cold. Absently, he wondered how bad it would be later, if he should take the night off, if this snow storm would be enough to deter the criminals. It would be colder, enough to freeze through the suit, and awful if it started to snow again.

A sudden thought had him pulling his phone out his pocket, fumbling to get it turned on. “Call Foggy.” His phone echoed the command back at him, dialling, as he continued to walk.

“Alright Matt? I’m almost at the office, need me to detour?”

“No, all in one piece. Breakfast? It’s freezing, I’m going to need something more than Karen’s coffee.”

“Oh, please. Where you going?”

“Usual if it’s open. I’m guessing you want a muffin.”

“I’ll love you forever.”

“3 coffees, 3 cakes, coming up.”

“I’ll get the heating up if Karen’s not already in. I am frozen through from this snow.”

Matt laughed, already trying to ignore how the snow was settling into his clothes, the cold seeping into his bones. “I know, I’m going to need to thaw out before I can attempt to read anything. Oh fuck.” Off balanced from the sudden slip, his phone fell to the ground, Foggy shouting back at him, hearing the crash.

“I’m fine Fogs, I fell through some ice. Thought it was a clear patch of ground. And now I’m even more soaked. Um, keep talking, I need to find my phone.”

“This is the last time I distract you whilst it’s snowy and you’re supposed to be walking.”

“You know how evil ice is. Aw my socks are soaked.” He found the phone, shaking the snow from it, temporarily putting it in his pocket whilst he found his feet again. “You’re in my pocket, one sec whilst I get stood up again.”

“Nothing broken or bruised?”

“Just my ego. I might take a rain check on those coffees.” The way his now soaked trousers clung to him left him nothing more than wanting to get into the warmth.

“I’m on my way to you, just hang on.”

“Fogs, I can make it, I’m almost there.”

“I don’t want you to freeze to death if you fall over again. I will suffer through your moaning of having wet socks.” He could hear rustling, and the sound of Foggy stepping back outside, he must have only just reached the office.

“It’s awful Foggy. This is how people lose their feet, from having damp shoes and socks. And I don’t want to lose my feet. How ever would I manage crutches and a cane?”

“Nope, changed my mind. I’m just coming your way to get those coffees and muffins.”

“My feet Fogs. And my trousers. I’m getting a taxi home.”

His friend sighed, “You should have just got a taxi in Matt.”

“I didn’t realise there would be this much ice already. I don’t plan for these things, I didn’t plan to fall through it. I would much rather not be soaked through right now.”

“Soaked through.”

“My trousers, my gloves. My socks and shoes, my poor cold feet!”

“Some sort of snow pile you fell into then, or a lake or something?” He could hear the snow as it started to fall further, no surprise in the fact that there was still no one else around, besides the few cars. “I’m guessing you’re on your usual route in?”

“Yeah, I’ve ducked under a bus shelter, if you’re going to be my hero, I’ll stay here.”

A walk to the office, full of whining, Foggy’s arm looped through Matt’s as they continued to avoid the worst of the snow and ice. Thankful that Foggy had managed to get the heating on before setting back out, and Karen now also in. Who laughed, before seeming to realise it wasn’t a laughing situation, for Matt at least. “Oh no, what happened?”

“The great and mighty Daredevil was defeated by a patch of ice.” Them both now shivering with cold, they removed their coats, hanging them up, before Matt addressed his own soaked lower half.

“I’ve got some clothes somewhere, maybe some socks if you’re lucky.”

“Why?” His shoes swiftly off his feet, soon followed by socks, leaving him barefooted. Although the floor made his feet feel just as cold as the soaked socks.

“Because you have an awful habit of dragging me out to drink at yours after work. I can’t borrow your clothes all the time to sleep in, thought I’d bring a bag for next time we ended up drunk.”

“Oh. Please have joggers or something because I really don’t want to wear these trousers.”

From his office, Foggy called out. “That sounded like a threat, please don’t strip in front of Karen. I have trousers, I have socks. Hows your top half?”

“You know you’re my better half Fogs.” He smirked, taking off his jacket, which had damp sleeves, folding it in half.

“Matthew. Do you require my jumper.”

He hoped Karen didn’t notice how he’d managed to keep his shirt dry, passing it off for a chance to steal more of Foggy’s clothes. “Yes please.”

“Okay, can we keep the excess of clothes in your office Matt, Karen doesn’t want to be staring at your drying socks all day. Come on, chop chop, the heatings on in there. And I doubt we’ll get any clients walking in in this weather, but they don’t want your stinky socks either.”

He trudged into his office, Foggy passing him the bundle of clothes. His socks and shoes placed neatly over the edge of the radiator, the jacket as well. And then getting changed, Foggy’s clothes comfortable and warm. Until he reached the socks.

“These are wrong.” He muttered, holding one in each hand. His feet still felt so cold and clammy though, and his own wouldn’t be dry for hours still. But, they were Wrong. Not his own, that were comfortable, and soft. How did Foggy own so many nice clothes, and yet offer him the completely Wrong socks.

He left them to one side, his feet cold and bare, finishing draping his trousers over his heater, his shirt folded up on the edge of his desk. Opening the door, he headed back out, to find and dry off his cane. He’d never paid much attention before to the fact that the main area wasn’t carpeted. Unlike his office, which he’d invested in getting carpet in, his luxury. And it was across this expanse of cold lino, that his cane lay, propped up with the coats. The texture, the sound, of his bare feet against dirty floor, was awful, and he considered giving up. Foggy and Karen had gathered in their kitchenette, around the coffee machine, and so no one was around to witness his grimaces as he grabbed his still frozen cane. Soon collapsed, he wiped down each section, clearing any of the remaining snow or grit from it, his mind fully focused on just how cold his feet remained. Content with his cane being sufficiently dry, he placed it back with their coats, the towel now damp, bagging it up to take home and replace.

He needed caffeine, and he could smell it brewing. But there was still that expanse of cold, cold floor, and his bare feet. If he returned to the safety of his carpeted office, would they bring him coffee? He could try Foggy’s socks. They might be better than the floor.

They were better than the floor. They’d do to travel to the coffee.

“Better?” asked Foggy, as he stepped into the kitchenette, hands outstretched for the mug of coffee he knew was waiting for him.

“Yeah. Your socks are Wrong though.”

“Wrong?” Foggy paused in passing over the coffee, “I give you my clothes, and you complain about my socks.”

“They’re not my socks.”

“He does solely wear those, his socks Foggy. They are pretty nice.” Karen took pity on him grabbing the coffee and passing it over to Matt, who cupped it in his hands, leaning against the door-frame.

“Socks are socks though, surely?”

“Hmmm.” He took a slurp of coffee, shuddering at the sudden warmth. “Mine are nicer.”

“If you’re that unhappy with them I’ll take them back.”

“Nooo.” Matt whined, pouting. “No, thank you for the socks. And for the clothes. Please don’t take them away from me, my poor feet.”

“I think we should suggest working from home tomorrow, if it carries on like this, no clients are going to come out. And I don’t think its going to be safe for anyone-” he directed a glare towards Matt with this “-to be out walking in the morning.”

“It was one frozen puddle Fogs. It snuck up on me. The city should do a better job of maintaining the sidewalks.”

“I caved and got a taxi this morning, when I woke up and saw the snow. Wasn’t worth it.” Karen added, “I knew I’d be slipping all over the place if I tried to walk.”

“Anyway, we’re all here and in one piece now, and we can probably split a taxi back home. Now, one honest answer for this next question Matt.” Foggy’s tone got sharper, a tinge of worry, “Once you get home tonight, you’re staying in, correct? If Murdock can’t deal with the ice, Daredevil definitely can’t.”

Matt froze, mug almost to his lips. “I’m staying in?”

Foggy sighed, a swish of his hair as he shook his head. “Matt, please, that was a question. If I see on the news that Daredevil has slipped and died because of the snow and ice, I’ll kill you.”

“Okay. I think I’ll still be frozen then anyway.”

“Yes. Stay in, stay warm, and don’t die.”

They migrated back into their own offices, Matt tracking down a blanket no one knew he had, and sitting, cross legged, in his office chair, blanket around him, listening to his reader.

His toes were still cold.

He wriggled them, and they were still clammy and cold. He wandered out of his office, blanket in tow, to complain at Foggy.

“I’m cold still.”

“This is because you don’t eat properly.”

“My feet Foggy.” His arms trapped, he wasn’t quick enough to catch what Foggy threw at his head. “Fogs? Why was I attacked, by a -by an orange?”

“A tangerine. Eat one, they’re good for you, they’ll warm you up.”

“I really don’t think that’s how it works.”

“It might be, I don’t know. But please eat them, Karen left me with the bowl of them.”

Matt took one, slowly peeling it. “And we have a bowl of tangerines, because?”

“Miss Brooks, the pro bono case I took a few weeks ago, kid named Nico.”

“She brought you tangerines.”

“I don’t know. I’m wondering if it was a fruit basket and Karen has the rest hidden somewhere, or if it’s just tangerines. But you need to contribute to eating them.”

Tangerine in hand, Matt wandered back through to his office. Although stopping to complain with Karen for a bit, on the state of the world, and how awful winter was, and that he wasn’t built for the cold.

“Matt. Are we working today or shall we just give up now?” Foggy called out from his office, the door ajar, and Matt’s face flashed with guilt. “Stop distracting Karen, we all know you’ll complain whatever the weather.” He carried on his path to his own office, the feel of carpet on his socked feet, and the heat of the radiator, still on full force, trying its best to dry his clothes. He poked his socks, a frown as he realised they were still damp, before settling back into his chair.

There was something causing him to lose his focus. The cold, or simply the feeling of not being in work clothes, wearing Foggy’s clothes. He’d managed well enough working at home before, working out of uniform, but today wasn’t his day for focus. And it was too quiet outside, in the streets. The noise from people inside their buildings the same, but the roads lacking what made them normal. Absently he picked at the tangerine, a pile of peel and pith on the edge of his desk, his hands still now feeling frozen, his skin clammy, even in the warmth of his office. He tried to concentrate, to listen to information, research. Taking off his glasses, he wrapped up further in his blanket, headphones in, one hand loose for typing.

His dawdling was interrupted by Foggy walking into his office, he froze, hidden under his blanket, the wire of headphones snaking underneath. “Matt?” Not to be rude, he poked his head out, looking in his partner’s direction. “I was bringing you coffee, but you look too lost to drink it.”

“I’m still cold. I would love a coffee.” He shimmied, losing the blanket to around his shoulders, and standing to take the drink. “I don’t think the orange helped.”

A noise, a movement he pieced together as Foggy facepalming, a muffled complaint. “It doesn’t work like that Matt. Try eating more of them, and more fruit.”

Caffeine bringing a little more clarity, and warmth, he tried to carry on working, ever aware of the time, waiting for the next opportunity for a break. Listening to his colleagues working on, the clatter of keyboards, of clicking mice, of Foggy talking aloud to himself. Leaving to go get some water, he heard Foggy quickly jump upright, walking quietly to Matt’s office, fiddling with something, and then sneaking back to his own room. Confused, he returned, trying to find the difference.

“Tangerines?” The smell now filled the room, more than it had before. “Oh Foggy, why?!” He called out, realising that his socks, now almost dry, had been filled with oranges, hanging like stockings over the edge of the heater. “Foggy that’s awful, they’re going to taste like feet now.”

All he could hear from Foggy and Karen was laughter, as he picked the tangerines out, piling them up on a table.

“You hadn’t had your daily fruit Matt, I’m just trying to help.” Through laughter, Foggy shouted out from his office.

He sulked, shouting back with a joking tone, “You should have just left me in the snow!” Oranges rescued, he found his blanket again, sighing as he sat back in his chair. “Feet tangerines.”

“I better not hear you complaining Murdock.”

“I’d been managing to ignore the smell of damp shoes so far! And now all I can smell is tangerines.”

“I was helping! It’s a lovely scent. It’ll go away if you eat them all.”

“There’s about 10 here, I can’t eat that many.”

“You’re so ungrateful.”

“You’re so distracting!” A joking tone, and with which they realised they were failing at any attempts to work. A break for lunch, Matt trying to bring all the tangerines out of his office, Foggy retaliating by throwing them back in, leaving them scattered all over the floor.

“They smell of feet Fogs.”

“Your feet. That’s no reason to complain.”

“They’re damp, your socks are wrong, I’m still cold!” Their usual bickering, fights that would have once worried Karen, now a used to part of their relationship.

“Just shut up and eat your tangerines Matt!”

“I can’t eat food that smells of toes.”

“Just eat your damn toe orange!”


	2. Chapter 2

It was days, a week, past the time he’d promised Foggy he wouldn’t go out in this weather. It had stopped snowing now, and the streets had been cleared, made safe again. Which meant that the crime was creeping up, those smart enough to stay in through the worst of the snow reappearing again, rumours of some sort of deal taking place at the docks.

The rooftops were fairly clear, the tallest having a faint scatter of snow, but nothing to disturb him, just enough to make him focus a little more on his landings. The cold of winter made the metal stairs he ran up and down freezing, threatening to stick to his suit, small puddles frozen over, some he dodged, some he slipped through. His boots not giving enough traction to be saved from ice, leaving him moving more carefully in the cold.

A group of men, talking in whispered voices, guns at their hips. The slow movement of trucks and vans, items being traded, containers filled with weapons, with cash, with drugs. This was just research, he couldn’t take on this many people, and he just needed to know what they were dealing with. Follow a truck to its next destination, work out who was in charge. Tip it off to the police. Part of his agreement with Foggy, to not put himself in danger, to hand off to someone else where he could.

He tried to ignore the fact he’d agreed with Foggy to not go out when it was frozen.

Crouched in the shadows, sitting for an hour just listening, it had made him stiff. In a lull of conversation, he’d stretched, wincing and ducking as the container he was on creaked, the sound alerting the men below. As one, they moved, heads looking up, the heat of torches pointing in his direction. He ran, trying to get out of their sight, jumping between containers, ducking, weaving. Dropping to the ground, he flinched as guns rang out behind him, all missing, but causing him to put on a burst of speed, trying to get a container, a wall, anything between him and then, so he could hide. A scrabble up a container, to what he thought would be a clear route. The clatter as some men followed him, climbing ladders, others racing around the side to try and get in front. The metal of containers switching to wood, to concrete, the edge of the docks, a clearer route home.

And then he was jumping, a gunshot almost skimming him, dropping, and rolling onto the ground. Which immediately collapsed underneath him, and he fell down, through the rotten platform. Laying winded for a second, before that too broke on him, ice cracking, he scrabbled, before landing in the frigid water of the Hudson. A gasp, trying to work out which way was up, swimming to the surface, floating on his back, paddling to stay afloat. He clicked his tongue, the sound of the waves confusing everything, working out the way back to the edge. And then swimming again, the weight of the suit slowing everything, his survival keyed to getting out of this water. Too much noise, he hoped those chasing him had gone, had given up. At the waters edge, he paddled along, reaching for a hold, to pull himself up and out.

Surfaced, he tried to shake the worst of it off, lifting his helmet a little to let out what had got caught there, grimacing at the feel of soaked gloves and clothes. It was like the soaked socks all over again. A chatter of noise alerted him to new company, police this time, investigating the gunshots. He sighed before starting to run, the squelch of water in his boots a constant companion. He heard a shout of “Daredevil!” and simply sped up, a quick climb up a fire escape landing him on the roof, where he could travel uninterrupted. He was too cold and wet to consider talking to the cops, even if it was Brett. That was a lie, he never wanted to speak to them, not on their terms at least.

All he wanted was to be at home, and out of this suit, and into real clothes. Comfy clothes. Anything but this sodden mess. He grimaced as he thought of the cleaning, of the drying.

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch. Every step. Every jump. Footprints of water on the rooftops. Water that he was doing his utmost to not think about, because it was hardly the cleanish snow he’d fallen in the other day. He shuddered at even starting to think of what could be in that river. The creak of material as he climbing a ladder, water sloshing in the toes of his boots.

He could never tell Foggy. Not when he’d promised to not go out. Couldn’t complain over how cold he was when he shouldn’t have left the house.

It wasn’t that bad though. Unless that was the hypothermia talking?

He didn’t feel as cold as he did the other day just falling into snow. Which was wrong, thinking on it.

Home, and warmth, and blankets. And getting these socks of his feet. It was still the worst part of getting wet. He could deal with the water stuck in his helmet, in his gloves, under the rest of the suit. But his shoes, his feet, cold, clammy, freezing.

A few blocks left to warmth.

Landing on the rooftop, creaking through the door and down the stairs, the suit continuing to leak water. He pulled himself out of it, abandoning it in the bathroom and trying to dry off, before layering up, comfy clothes, a blanket nest, curling up in bed. Chance to sleep before back to work in the morning, a taxi already booked to avoid the ice, on Foggy’s insistence.

He never had to know that Matt went out.

Just managing to doze off, head buried under the duvet, as the phone rang. “FOGGY-FOGGY-FOGGY-FOGGY-FOG-” Sneaking a hand out into the cold, he found it, groaning as he answered.

“What’s up? I can’t be late, it’s still early?” Act normal, he thought to himself, he could never know you were out Daredevilling.

A relieved sigh down the phone, Foggy also sounding groggy with sleep. “You’re alive then?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Not dying from the cold?”

An even colder chill ran down Matt, guilt in his voice as he answered,“No?”

“Huh. That sounded like a question.”

“Why would I be dying?”

“I don’t know, you me why you _wouldn’t_ be dying after pulling yourself out of the Hudson?”

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed.”

A few seconds of silence, as Matt wanted to sink into the ground,“I might be dying a little.”

“Thought so. I’m coming over.”

“Please don’t bring tangerines.”

“Oh I’m bringing toe oranges and you’ll be grateful. Don’t die whilst I find a taxi.” He hung up, and Matt buried himself back in the blankets, half dozing back to sleep, knowing that Foggy would just let himself in. A car pulling up outside let Foggy out into the cold, and he soon heard him pacing up the stairs, “meh, meh, meh, only dying a little, I’ll show you, you promised me you wouldn’t go out.” As he walked through the door, his voice got louder, lights being switched on. “Thank the stars for Brett, although he still insists on calling you my husband, he told me you’d pulled yourself out of the Hudson.”

A lump under his blankets, Matt peeked his head out, a face of apology. “I’m sorry Fogs. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I had to put up with days of complaining over wet socks, and yet you’re fine after pulling yourself out of a frozen river? Now shut up and let me help you.”


End file.
